Killerbyte (byte Series Book 1) Read online

  I twisted the handle and swung the door open. “I’m okay.”

  He looked worried and pleased all at the same time.

  I felt jittery, like my insides were cold and shivering.

  Mac’s arm slid around my waist. “You’re pale.”

  “Go figure.”

  “Smartass,” he said and planted a kiss on the top of my head. “Caine has more to share.”

  Great! I had a feeling none of it was good. I didn’t trust myself to speak again. Damn that hacker/killer/Unsub bastard and his violating ways. I could feel my hands shaking as I tried to light a cigarette. My mind spun as if it was no longer part of me. Words flung into the darkness. They slowed until one word stood out as it floated through, food.

  I need to eat and I need to eat now.

  A voice mumbled next to me, and then it mumbled again. I reached for the ashtray only to discover I didn’t have a cigarette in my hand. I blinked several times to clear my vision and determine what was happening. It wasn’t a cigarette in my hand. It was a fork.

  When did my cigarette become a fork?

  “Eat.”

  I heard the same voice that mumbled minutes before. It was Mac. I stopped trying to understand, ate the eggs, toast, and drank the orange juice that appeared before me. I swallowed the last mouthful of egg. I could think again, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Caine and Mac had the laptops fired up and were searching files.

  “Where did the breakfast come from?”

  I’d work my way into thinking.

  “I ordered it on my way, had one of the boys pick it up and bring it on over,” Caine replied.

  I considered his reply. Obviously, my brain had stepped out and missed the breakfast delivery.

  Okay, on with the real questions.

  “Whose is the head?” I asked, draining the last of the juice.

  “May take some time to figure that out, no one’s been reported missing thus far, so our search area remains very broad.”

  “The Marriott body had a head.” I’d never forget opening that bag.

  “Yes.”

  “What about regulars missing from the chat room?”

  “We have to wait and see. So far the only comment from our agents in the room is that Dhs hasn’t recited anything, or made any comments since you posted that poem.”

  “Unusual,” Mac replied. “He’s prolific with his weird poems and also likes to freak out people with strange comments.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. “Maybe he wasn’t there at all.”

  Caine asked for another CD. I passed him a pile.

  Five CDs later Mac found something. “I got it,” he said, and scrolled through a file containing four hours of room conversation. He stopped just after the Welcome home poem to read who had made comments. “Stormy, Bitter, me.” He shifted his eyes to find mine. “Someone called Addict_man.”

  Caine leaned back in his chair. “What do you two remember about this person?”

  I could see Mac’s thoughts ticking over. “I remember him, he was kinda pushy, a regular for about a month and kept asking if he could have a hammer.”

  I recalled him, too, for different reasons. “He used to message me all the time, wanting to send me poems, and he struck me as desperate to fit in. His poetry was more a collection of randomness than actual poetry, and very dark.”

  Caine looked from me to Mac. “Did either of you befriend him at all?”

  We shook our heads.

  Mac replied, “No. He wasn’t the friendliest of people and would get all upset if Ellie wasn’t in the room for whatever reason. Or if she were spending time talking to the rest of us.”

  “Interesting,” Caine said. “When did he stop coming?”

  “Ah,” Mac replied, “that would’ve been when Ellie was away for about three weeks. He came in for the first week, constantly asking where she was, and then he began accusing others of being her. He actually said that he believed she was avoiding him and hiding.” Mac leaned back in the chair. “I don’t remember seeing his nickname again.”

  I shuffled my chair over to see the screen. “Do you mind?” I angled the laptop towards me and checked the log I always kept of who was in the room. “Dhs was there too.”

  I read further, looking for something Dhs might have typed in the room. “Look.” I nudged Mac. “Dhs replied to a comment by Addict_man, their fonts are different.”

  “Yup,” he said. He sounded thoughtful. “Can you find something that Addict_man recited?”

  I found a short poem that almost sounded like a nursery rhyme when read aloud. Caine came around to see the screen. “Copy that poem to an email and send it to the Questioned Documents Lab. We’ll see if they can figure out if it’s the same guy who’s leaving you little poems now.”

  I reviewed the poem again before sending it off. I decided to check his online profile. There was no picture and no real information. He stated his interests as poetry, especially Cobwebs’ chat room and OtherwiseCat. Now that’s just creepy,” I said, and showed Mac. “No invites to join him in chat or to install messenger.”

  “Maybe there were until recently,” Mac replied. “Look at the date at the bottom of the page.”

  I scrolled down. “Updated yesterday, always one fuc’n step ahead!”

  A pop-up informed me I had new mail. I clicked the icon and opened the mailbox to reveal yet another email from the Unsub. The subject line caused instant alarm: Three blind mice.

  I opened the email and read the contents aloud, ‘“Three blind mice, three blind mice, see how they run, see how they run. They all run around scared at night. I cut off someone’s head with a carving knife. Did you ever see such a sight in your life as three blind mice?’”

  “Would you say he’s watching us or trying to freak us out?” Mac asked, as he stood up, crossed the room, and drew the curtains.

  “We didn’t prepay the room.” I reminded Mac. “We haven’t used the credit card since we left Arlington.”

  “Yeah, I know. But he was in Mauryville yesterday.”

  Caine looked up. “We have no way of knowing if he’s watching for sure. But just in case, I have agents in the motel across the street and several more arriving soon.”

  I read the email for the second time.

  Caine continued talking, “You know the drill, Ellie. Only polite conversation if you run into them outside. It’s unlikely you’ll recognize them anyway. You spend little time in the Hoover building and I requested agents based in DC.”

  I replied, “Yeah, I know ... nod and smile.”

  I watched for several moments as Mac paced back and forth across the room. I could tell he was lost in contemplation and let him be. I turned my inquisitive mind to Caine. “So tell me about the agents across the street?”

  “They started at seven this morning. We gained permission from the motel owner late yesterday, and have two agents in the house attached that overlooks the street, posing as painters.”

  I changed the subject. “About the crime scene.”

  He knew which one. “Your home?”

  I nodded. “What did you get on the shoes and footprints?”

  Caine flipped open his notebook and rifled through a few pages. “Carter wore a size twelve. They were on his feet in the trunk of the car. His shoe prints were on the floor in your kitchen. The Unsub wears a size ten, maybe, if that was him at the café.”

  “So it was or wasn’t Carter who made the shoe prints?”

  “If he wears a size ten shoe, then it may have been the Unsub, wearing Carter’s shoes, who made the prints.”

  “How do you know? Mac asked.

  “The pressure points on the shoe and therefore the print were different from the wear marks on the sole.”

  “How is it possible that he knew to do that?”

  Caine’s mouth twitched. “The same way he avoided leaving trace evidence at the scene. With some kind of protective clothing and probably foot coverings.” He played with the ashtray. “This guy
is a fucking ghost.”

  Ghosts don’t come prepared to kill.

  I let the whole protective clothing thing settle in my mind as I tried to recall the person who attacked me. What was he wearing? My mind drew a blank. I had no memory of seeing him.

  Mac stopped pacing. He sat down at the table.

  “Tell!” I knew him. His pacing halted because he’d settled upon an idea.

  “What if we tried to lure him out into the open?” he asked, and rocked his chair back to a precarious degree.

  Caine leaned forward resting his elbows on the tabletop. “Sounds like you have something in mind.”

  “I do,” Mac replied. “We think he’s close, right?” He looked up at us. We nodded in agreement. “He’s using our chat room, killing people we know. Ellie already used the room to initiate a response from him, but all that gleaned is a possible nickname.” He paused.

  Caine paced up and down. “Go ahead, Mac.”

  “Why not use the room to trap him?” Mac said.

  Caine slid back into the chair and leaned towards Mac. “How?”

  “I could spend a few hours in the room, doing regular host-type stuff, as though everything’s fine. Ellie and I know when he’s in there. My idea involves Ellie parking close to the Interscape Café, but out of plain view. If I announce to the room that I’m staying in Lexington for a few days and need to go out for a bit, but will drop by the Interscape Café and check on the room. It’s what a good chat room moderator would do.” He made eye contact with me then carried on. “Which is what I’ll do. He seems unable to resist taunting us, so let’s give him an opportunity. Maybe we can catch him.”

  Caine rocked back on his chair. “A couple of points. One, the building is too big for one person to watch. It will require Ellie plus at least one other agent. Two, we must consider the possibility of him being already at the café when you get there, and that puts you and any patrons in a very dangerous position.”

  I interrupted. “How long do you need to secure the café.”

  “Two hours,” Caine replied.

  “Well, let’s do that while Mac is in the chat room setting the scene. Before his announcement.”

  “The biggest problem is that he may be watching and may follow Ellie, in which case the whole thing falls flat.”

  “I have a solution,” I said. “Let’s have Mac mention that I have gone grocery shopping. Have someone tail me. I will go shopping, and if he does follow, we’ll pick him up then.”

  Mac came up with a twist on my idea. “What if I mention I’m meeting you at the café after you’re done shopping? Up the ante for him. He gets to have us both in the same place, he likes that.”

  “Yep, he does, sick shit that he is.”

  I watched Caine’s face as he thought. I knew he was coming up with a revised game plan. “Ellie you shop ... with a protection detail that will hopefully remain invisible and not tip off our Unsub. Join me, when you’re done. You’ll be late meeting Mac, which gives him an excuse to log into the chat room while he waits.”

  “Excellent.” Mac seemed quite perky at the thought of swaying the balance of power.

  “What time is it?” Caine asked.

  “Ten,” I replied.

  “Let me organize everything. Mac, get yourself into that chat room and do what you do. I want surveillance in place before you mention your little outing to meet Ellie for coffee. I will call at midday. I’m going to shoot for a two-thirty set-up and want everyone in place, barring you and Ellie, by twelve-thirty at the latest.”

  Mac nodded.

  “Ellie, you go shopping at one-fifteen. I’ll confirm time when I call.”

  I nodded. It felt good to be proactive instead of reactive.

  Caine rose from his chair. “I’ll be in touch. You did well, Mac.”

  “Thanks,” Mac replied.

  Caine’s mouth twitched at both corners as he left the table. I recognized the twitch as his equivalent to an all-out grin. He reached into his pocket and handed me two credit cards and a roll of cash.

  “I set up a new account for this situation, credit only.”

  I looked at the Visa and American express he pressed into my hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Here’s five hundred dollars in cash. Keep all your receipts.”

  “I always do.”

  “If you need anymore, let me know. I am the only one with access to the new account.” Caine twitched. “I’ll call you soon.”

  I walked him to the door and locked it after him. I heard my phone ring from the counter top. Mac frowned as he picked it up and read the display. “Why doesn’t she ever listen?”

  I shrugged and dropped the roll of bills and the credit cards onto the table.

  Images of the woman wildly clicking the print icon on her computer, while cursing the printer for not obeying her instantly, popped into my head. I wrestled the phone from Mac’s grasp, “Its Ellie here, Mrs. Connelly. Mac and I are a little busy right now. But if you would like, I can come up in a few days and I will fix your printer for you.”

  I have a five-pound sledgehammer that should fix it. If it doesn’t, I can get some power gel: the explosion might take out half the house but it would damn well fix the printer problems.

  I hung up, and blocked her number on my phone.

  Mac sat on the bed watching me. “And?”

  “And she didn’t really listen at all, so I blocked her number.”

  He toppled back onto the unmade bed. “Good thinking.”

  I grabbed Mac’s hand and tugged. “Come on, get in the chat room and be charming.”

  He pulled back. I fell onto him. He grinned and said, “We have a few hours.”

  “And they’ll evaporate fast if we don’t move!” I rolled off him.

  Mac sat up. “Tease!”

  “Am not!” I retorted. I hauled myself off the bed and searched through our bags for clothes.

  Mac chuckled and went back to the table. I heard him typing as I searched. He was doing the host thing and catching up with the remaining regulars. I showered and wrapped a towel around my hair. I went back to the main room and dressed. The towel fell on the floor as I dragged a tee shirt over my head. Wet hair stuck to my back, which made me wonder why I didn’t think to drop a blow dryer into my bag of tricks. I’d found a notice in a drawer in the bathroom saying a hair drier was available at the front desk for a reasonable fee.

  Guess they had a lot of thefts.

  “I’ll be you for a bit if you want to take a shower,” I said.

  I leaned over Mac’s shoulder to see who was in the room. There were noticeable gaps among those we had considered friends. I ignored the building sadness at the loss of lives. “Did you hear me?”

  “No,” his voice was a little husky as he replied, “What did you say?”

  “I said I’ll be you for a bit if you want to take a shower.”

  “Oh.” He reached up and removed strands of wet hair from my face. “That’s not at all what I heard.”

  “Do tell?” I prodded him to move from the chair.

  “I heard ‘take a shower with me?’” He gave me a long look that ran from head to toe. “I see you managed to do that all by yourself.”

  “Go! Shower!” I pointed to the bathroom.

  “Damn, I thought you were propositioning me.”

  I grinned. “If this all works out, I sure will be.”

  “Tease.”

  “Hit the shower, dude.” I nudged him out of his chair.

  “All right, all right.” Mac stooped down and kissed the top of my head. “Be back soon. Try not to get into any trouble.”

  I feigned horror at his comment. “As if!”

  “Just be me, not you,” he said as he walked away.

  I became Mac in the chat room and made charming Mac-like comments. I enjoyed reading the recited poetry and watching the conversation thread between poems. After a few minutes, I had the hang of being Mac and enjoyed myself. My phone rang. The noise
alone almost toppled me from my chair. I checked the display and was surprised. Aidan.

  “Hey, Aidan.”

  “Ellie, where are you?”

  “Why?” I asked.

  I squinted at the screen. Someone had used a pink font and it was difficult to read. Had I been Otherwisecat and not Galileo, I would have insisted that they change it to something more suitable. It took great self-control to resist reprimanding Sweetpea for her ridiculous choice of color.

  I heard Aidan’s voice in my ear but had to ask him to repeat, he sounded huffy as he did so.

  “I thought I saw you on the road to Mauryville, yesterday.”

  “It’s possible.” I exhaled, and decided to pay more attention to my brother’s call and less to the room.

  “What are you doing back down that way?” Then I heard the concern in his voice.

  “We had to pick up some stuff from home.” I felt zero need to elaborate on that or anything else that had happened.

  “We? Is Mac still with you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Good,” he replied in a calmer voice. His intonation suggested he had yet to address his real reason for calling.

  “What’s up, Aidan?”

  “Mom.”

  Ack, that’s all I need.

  I felt my back stiffen. “How bad?”

  “She’s upset. You haven’t called, and she hasn’t seen you in weeks ... blah, blah, blah.”

  I chewed my bottom lip. Upset was code for nuttier than a Snickers bar.

  Aidan continued. “She’s not real bad yet but I can feel it building.”

  I typed a quick comment into the room: Well read, just as Mac would after someone had recited. They didn’t need to know I had no clue what the poem was about.

  “You still staying at their place?”

  “On and off, yes.”

  “Go home. Be out of range.”

  “But what about Dad?” His reply alerted me to the real problem he was struggling with, his guilt at leaving Dad to deal with Mom.

  “Aidan,” I said. “Go home. Dad can take care of her. He’s been doing it a long time, and it is not your problem.” I paused, listening to his breathing.

  “I feel bad leaving him when she’s worked up.”

  More code: worked up means borderline manic.

  “I know. Just go, Aidan. You don’t have to put up with her shit anymore. You’re an adult. Walk away.”